Once, In Dog Years
by Piper Sargasso
Summary: Post-Closure, Mulder thinks back on past guilt and considers when to tell Scully his ultimate truth.


Once, In Dog Years By Piper Sargasso

Disclaimer: Characters within were created by   
Chris Carter. No infringement intended.   
  
Author's Notes: Eternal thanks to Sallie, for the   
lightning-fast beta. And to Carol, for the   
discussion that inspired this story.   
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
Once, In Dog Years  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
For the first time, I'm not sure what to do.  
  
I've always been a man with a clear goal in sight.   
Excel in college. Focus on Academy training.   
Find Samantha – find the truth.   
  
Starlight… how differently things have turned   
out, far different from what I'd expected.   
  
It's not that I never considered the possibility   
that she might be dead. I'll never forget the   
conflicting feelings I had during the Roche case.   
I'm not sure which prospect was more terrifying   
– to find that the dead child was Samantha, or to   
find that it wasn't.   
  
There's something I've never told you, Scully;   
something I've held in my heart, my burden to   
bear alone. A guilt that has festered and only   
found release recently. After I returned from the   
Arctic – after the first Samantha clone – I had a   
hard time dealing with what had happened. One   
night, after we parted ways for the evening, I   
couldn't bear the thought of going to that empty   
apartment alone. So I went to a bar where a man   
can drink himself into oblivion without being   
bothered.   
  
I sat there, thinking I'd never find Sam. That she   
was very likely dead and I was just a fool to   
believe the lies I was being spoon-fed; the lie   
that she was still alive, waiting for me to expose   
the men responsible and bring her back home.  
  
When I left, I was in no shape to drive. I walked   
for what felt like an eternity. Then I saw a bright neon sign lighting up the night: 

  
* _Fortunes Read!_ *  
* _Futures Revealed!_ *   
  
I stumbled through the door, completely unaware   
of the late hour. It didn't seem to matter – the   
woman inside was more than happy to take my   
credit card. I sat down at the table, the hokey   
decorations surrounding me barely registering.   
Every cliché, from the Bohemian prints to the   
obligatory crystal ball was represented.   
  
I felt like a traitor of the worst kind when I asked   
her to summon up the spirit of my dead sister.   
And God help me, I was relieved when I walked   
out of there, after she'd successfully contacted   
her.   
  
Over the course of the next day, I realized the   
woman had only gleaned information from me to   
validate her guesses and soothing words of   
closure, an easy thing to do in my drunken state.   
I still had no answers. Nothing at all but the gut-  
twisting guilt that held on relentlessly for the   
years to come.  
  
But now I have my peace. The freedom is   
wonderful, but unfamiliar to me.  
  
See this key chain? I've carried it around for   
years, unknown to you. It's a match to the   
Apollo 11 key chain I gave you for your   
birthday. It's been a comfort to me when things   
seemed hopeless or impossible to bear.   
  
I never told you the story behind it, did I? Of   
course I didn't. That night outside Max Fenig's   
trailer left me shame-faced, with nothing more   
than a smart-assed quip to defend myself.   
  
The truth is, despite your beautiful interpretation   
of the meaning behind the gift, it was nothing   
more than a whim. I'd been to a space shuttle   
exhibit at the museum, and wandered into the   
gift shop. It was behind a glass case, with the rest   
of the more valuable inventory. I liked it, thought   
about your birthday coming up, and decided to   
get it for you.   
  
I thought it would be perfect – small and   
impersonal. Unobtrusive. Just right for our   
relationship, as it stood at that point. Didn't want   
to rock the boat just as things were looking up   
for us. Didn't want to make a grand gesture for   
fear you'd misinterpret it as a pity gift in the face   
of your cancer. And Scully, it kills me to this day   
to think I almost lost you.   
  
Then that night, under the clear starry sky, I   
looked at you and saw something completely   
new. And the words you spoke – I remember   
them, verbatim.  
  
"You must dare to dream, but that there's no   
substitution for perseverance and hard work, and   
teamwork, because no one gets there alone. And   
that, while we commemorate the greatness of   
these events and the individuals who achieve   
them, we cannot forget the sacrifice of those who   
make these achievements and leaps possible."  
  
I went back to the museum the next day and   
bought the same key chain for myself.   
  
I think you can understand why I never told you.   
The psychologist in me recognizes the   
connotations and subconscious meaning behind   
this. The man in me is terrified to acknowledge   
it.   
  
For the first time though, I feel free to tell you   
the truth I've been harboring for too long. The   
truth I've been bound by duty and fear to hide.   
But how? How can I even begin to explain what   
you mean to me? Words seem inadequate.   
  
Years have fueled this fear, but it only took one   
night – one wondrous night -- to find the truth   
within me.   
  
I've run out of excuses, Scully, run out of   
reasons to hold back. When will I have the   
courage to tell you?  
  
  
~ The End ~   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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